


Final Moments

by Rod13369



Series: Something Different [4]
Category: Castle
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, Horror, Murder, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 70
Words: 16,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rod13369/pseuds/Rod13369
Summary: A series of short vignettes depicting the final moments of the various victims. Rated for dark nature.





	1. Flowers for Your Grave: Marvin Fisk

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of vignettes showing the final moments of the victims in each episode of "Castle". The episode's title serves as the chapter's title; if there was more than one victim their name will also appear in the chapter title. Cross-posting on Fanfiction.net.

Marvin Fisk had worked another grueling ten-hour day. He was ready to head home. He was just pulling on his jacket when there was a knock at the door.

He could have left by the other entrance, but it could be someone in trouble... Marvin opened the door to find a smaller man, dressed in dark jacket, pants, hat, and gloves. Before Marvin could ask what he was doing there, the man lunged, knocking Marvin onto the floor. Marvin struggled against the man, trying to get the upper hand, but the smaller individual somehow stayed on top. Before Marvin quite realized what was happening, he felt severe pressure on his windpipe. _The man was strangling him with his tie!_ Afraid of dying, Marvin struggled even harder, but the little man was surprisingly strong.

His vision was starting to darken around the edges. It was becoming harder to move his arms. He could hardly see anything but the man. He could barely draw a breath.

The world went black.


	2. Flowers for Your Grave: Allison Tisdale

“Hello?”

“Ally, it’s me.”

“What do you want, Harrison?” Allison Tisdale sighed. If her brother had come to ask for money _again_ …

“I just want to talk, Ally. I swear.”

Allison sighed again. “C’mon up.” She held the buzzer down for ten seconds, plenty of time for him to get into the building. In what seemed like no time, she was opening the front door of her apartment. “You’d better not ask--” A muffled _ptew_ cut her off, followed by considerable pain in her left chest. Confused, she looked down. A rapidly widening red spot had appeared on her white blouse. She looked up at her brother; saw the gun in his hand. Stricken, she looked into his eyes. “Why?”

Her only answer was another shot, which sent her tumbling backwards.

She felt her head hit the floor, and then… nothing.


	3. Flowers for Your Grave: Kendra Pitney

Kendra Pitney had a killer headache. She’d stopped by the diner on the way home from work, but was now regretting her choice to have a Coke with her meal. Caffeine always made her headaches worse. Now, just outside her building, she stumbled.

“Whoa!” a strange voice said as a pair of arms encircled her. “You okay?”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, forcing herself to remain conscious for just a little while longer. “My head’s killing me…”

“C’mon,” the voice said. “I’ll help you inside.”

“Thanks,” she replied, managing to get her key out. Leaning on the unknown Samaritan for support, she unlocked the door. When she nearly fell again, her helper caught her and steered her towards the elevator.

Kendra instructed her rescuer to hit the button for the fourth floor, and when they arrived managed to unlock her front door. The good citizen helped her to lie down on her couch. “I keep aspirin in the kitchen,” she said, eyes shut against the pain. Her headache was now a full-blown migraine. She heard the person move away, but the next thing she felt was a pair of hands, covering her nose and mouth, cutting off her air. She struggled, but her headache was so powerful that she could barely move.

The blackness that had been threatening for the last few minutes finally rose up and swallowed her.


	4. Nanny McDead

Sara Manning hummed idly as she walked from the elevator to the laundry room. It had been another incredible afternoon with Ian, and there was still time to move the laundry and finish cleaning the apartment before she had to pick up Alex from school. She’d finished transferring the laundry from the washer to the dryer when a sudden noise from the direction of the door caused her to jump.

“Hi Sara.”

Heart still beating a mile a minute, Sara looked over to see her friend Chloe standing just inside the room.

“Jeez, Chloe, you scared me.” Sara took a deep breath to calm herself down. Then she saw the look on Chloe’s face. “What’s up?”

“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

Coming out of nowhere, the question caught Sara completely off-guard. “What? Sleeping with who?”

“He’s the reason you broke up with Brent, isn’t he?”

Suddenly Sara understood, and she didn’t like Chloe’s tone. “It’s none of your business,” she informed the other girl, leaning against the table and crossing her arms.

“It is if he’s sleeping with me.”

“What?” Sara was completely shocked. Ian had assured her that he wasn’t seeing anyone…

“It’s true. He’s going to leave his wife for me.”

“You’re crazy,” Sara told her. The Ian she knew would stay with his wife, if only because he was too lazy to do the legwork necessary for a divorce. “And like I said, it’s none of your business who I sleep with.” With that, Sara levered herself away from the table and turned to put a dryer sheet in with the clothes.

Something came smashing down on the back of her head. It didn’t really hurt, but the force of the blow did cause her to lose her balance so that she fell, hitting her head on the table. That _did_ hurt. Sara landed on the floor, dazed from the successive blows to her skull. Her temple hurt like hell, and she could feel something wet on the side of her face. It took her a moment to realize that the wetness was her own blood, and lots of it.

The world around her was quickly greying out. Somewhere far away, she could hear footsteps approaching. Someone knelt next to her. “You’re wrong, Sara. He does love me.”

It was the last thing she ever heard.


	5. Hell Hath No Fury

The ringing of his cell phone broke the silence in City Councilman Jeff Horn’s car. Grinding his teeth, he hit the button to pick up. “Hello.”

_“The meeting’s been changed.”_

Jeff swallowed a sigh. “Where to, Laurie?”

_“The overpass. He says to hurry.”_

Jeff hung up without saying good-bye. He would be so glad when this whole blackmailing thing was over. Not that he expected his wife to forgive him, or forget. But at least she’d be out of his hair about paying off the son of a bitch.

Luckily, he was quite close to the overpass. It was a matter of a couple minutes for him to park the car, grab the bag of cash, and head under the bridge. It was eerily quiet, quiet enough that Jeff heard a car door slam further down the street. His heart was pounding in his ears, so loudly that he didn’t hear the footsteps until they were almost on top of him.

“Jeff.”

Jeff jumped and spun around. “Jesus, Frank, you scared me. What are you doing here?” Then he saw the gun in Frank’s hand. “What’s with the gun?”

“You just had to screw around, didn’t you Jeff?” Frank Nesbit said.

“Not now, Frank,” Jeff warned his long-time friend. “I’m supposed to meet someone.”

“You are,” Frank agreed. “You’re supposed to meet me.” With that, he raised the gun. Jeff saw Frank’s finger squeeze the trigger. A loud _bang_ followed almost immediately. The pain and shock sent Jeff falling backwards. His landing was surprisingly soft, and a part of Jeff’s mind noted that he’d apparently landed on a carpet of some kind. But he didn’t wonder for long; he could feel his life draining away, just as he could feel Frank standing over him, watching.

In a matter of moments, it was all over.


	6. Hedge Fund Homeboys: Donny Kendall

“You okay, Donny?” Amanda asked as the group of friends walked to through Central Park.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, nodding to Skobol as they passed the drug dealer and some of his buddies. “I just need a drink.” She smiled in understanding. The others were talking, trading the usual mindless gossip about school, as they approached their favorite bench. Donny broke out his flask and took a quarter of it in one gulp.

“Hey, don’t hog it,” Rami told him, reaching in and snagging it away. Donny didn’t protest; he knew that when his flask was emptied Brandon had another. Spencer brought out the gun and began waving it around. The others took turns pretending to be scared as it was pointed at them. Donny couldn’t even fake the fear.

Everyone else got more and more rambunctious as the flasks were passed. Donny just got more and more anxious to feel something, _anything_. “Come on,” he said to the others as he climbed on the bench. “Let’s do this!”

Max had the gun. He turned to face Donny, leveling the gun at his chest. “Good-bye, Mr. Anderson,” Max stated. Inwardly, Donny groaned. Was Max _ever_ going to let him live down that false-ID incident?

Normally, there was just a barely-audible _click_ as the hammer fell on an empty chamber. This time, though, there was a loud _bang._ Before Donny could even think about what that meant, he was thrown backwards. Vaguely, he felt the impact as he hit the grass. Pain overwhelmed his senses, and then…he felt nothing.


	7. Hedge Fund Homeboys: Max Heller

Ever since Donny had died— _Ever since I shot him_ —Max Heller had been a wreck. _It was just a stupid game,_ he repeated over and over to himself. _Why did we think it was a good idea to do it? I’m gonna be in so much trouble._

When Detective Beckett showed up at school and questioned them, Max thought about coming forward, but the others began spinning lies and he went along out of habit.

The second time the detective interviewed them, Max was so guilt-ridden over what he’d done he nearly came clean, but then Brandon started another lie, and Max’s will was swept away again.

“I’m going out, Mom,” he called as he exited the apartment. His mind spinning, he didn’t notice where he was headed. Eventually, he realized that he was standing in front of the bench where it had happened, staring.

“Hey Max.”

Max looked over at Brandon. “Hey,” he replied before looking back at the bench. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” he offered after a few moments of silence.

Brandon said nothing, merely nudged Max’s arm. Max looked over, saw the bottle Brandon was offering. Nodding his thanks, he accepted it and downed a quarter of it in one gulp. The booze flooded his system, but the buzz didn’t lighten Max’s mood any. “I’m a horrible person,” he told Brandon.

Again, Brandon said nothing, just nodded when Max looked his way. The pair stood silent for some time, Max taking long pulls from the bottle at frequent intervals. “Y’know what I can’t figure out?” Max finally said. “How the hell was there still a bullet in the gun?” He’d had enough to drink that his last question sounded more like “How th’ hell wazzerstill a bullet in th’gun?” but Brandon still seemed to understand. All of a sudden, Max felt like he had to sit down, which he did, right on the bench where Donny had died. “I mean,” he continued, taking another pull on the bottle, “Spencer said he’d emptied it.”

“Does it matter?” Brandon asked. Max whipped his head around to stare at his friend, and had to close his eyes as the world started wavering. “Think about it,” Brandon continued, oblivious to Max’s pain, “Donny hasn’t been the same since he got poor. We shouldn’t have let him hang with us anymore.”

Max was finally able to open his eyes again. “Wha’s wrong with you? Donny was our friend!”

“And as friends,” Brandon said, “we should have cared enough to let him go from a painful situation.”

Somehow, that made sense to Max’s alcohol-fogged brain. “Maybe so,” he said, closing his eyes again. He felt Brandon pull the flask out of his hand and put something else in its place, but he’d consumed so much liquor that all he wanted to do at this point was just fall asleep. He knew Brandon would understand. He could feel Brandon helping him to lift his arm to put something cool against his aching head. From a long way off, Max heard Brandon say, “Good night, Max.” There was a _bang_ , also from a long way off, and Max plunged into the darkness.


	8. A Chill Goes Through Her Veins: Melanie Cavanaugh

“Why won’t you get help Melanie?” She could hear the strain in Sam’s voice as he fought to keep his volume down. The girls were just in the bedroom, and even with the volume on the TV up they would still hear raised voices.

“You don’t understand,” she hissed at him. She’d tried to tell him in the past, about how she didn’t want to marry him, how she loved Kevin. He’d always talked her back, saying that it was just pre-wedding jitters or a moment of self-doubt brought on by the meth. “I’m not high,” she told him now. She wasn’t, either. It was the first time she’d come back from Philly completely clean, knowing that she needed to be for this confrontation. “You love her more than you love me,” she told him. “I won’t stop you from leaving. But I am _not_ letting you take the girls. They’re coming with me.”

“Oh right, so you can turn them into addicts?”

Melanie forced herself to take a deep breath and bite down on the tirade she wanted to let loose. “They’re coming with me, Sam. That’s that.”

She turned away from him and began stacking dishes in the sink. She didn’t pay any attention when she heard the scrape of the frying pan on the stove because she assumed that Sam was just going to help with the dishes. That was what they did: they fought, they took their anger out in the cleaning of the apartment, and life went on.

This time, though, the pan didn’t appear over her shoulder for her to put in the sink. Instead, she felt a sudden, all-encompassing pain on the back of her head, and darkness rushed in.


	9. A Chill Goes Through Her Veins: Sam Cavanaugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even after seeing this episode multiple times, I've never quite made up my mind on who murdered Sam. Hence, there are two versions of this chapter.

Sam Cavanaugh checked his watch as he left the grocery store. He had told the baby-sitter he’d be home by 10. It was now 9:30, plenty of time for him to make it home at a fast walk, provided he cut through the alley. Normally, he would have taken the long way around, but tonight he just wanted to get home. He’d made it about a third of the way down the alley when someone appeared in front of him, making Sam’s heart jump. “Evening, Sam.”

“God, Ben, you scared me,” Sam told his father-in-law. “What are you doing in town?” He kept walking towards the older man, but stopped when he heard the click of a gun. Squinting, he was just able to make out the outline of Ben Davidson’s old service revolver, clenched in the other man’s fist, the barrel pointing straight at him. “What’s going on, Ben?” Sam asked in a would-be calm voice.

“How did my daughter die?”

Sam’s chest tightened. Something in Ben’s voice said that he knew the answer, and just wanted confirmation from Sam. Caught off-guard, Sam blurted, “It was an accident.”

In the dark of the alley, Sam could not see his father-in-law’s face, but he sensed the anger that was rolling off the other man in waves. “We were fighting,” he hastened to explain. “She had run away again and came back saying that she was going to leave me and---”

_BANG._

Sam Cavanaugh was dead before he hit the ground.


	10. A Chill Goes Through Her Veins: Sam Cavanaugh (version 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Version 2 of this scenario.

Sam Cavanaugh checked his watch as he left the grocery store. He had told the baby-sitter he’d be home by 10. It was now 9:30, plenty of time for him to make it home at a fast walk, provided he cut through the alley. Normally, he would have taken the long way around, but tonight he just wanted to get home. He’d made it about a third of the way down the alley when someone appeared in front of him, making Sam’s heart jump. “Hey buddy, got a dollar?”

Sam cursed inwardly. He should have remembered that this alley was a hub for the homeless, particularly after dark. “Sorry man, flat broke,” he said, pushing past the other guy.

“Too bad.” There was the rustling of a jacket being pushed out of the way and the _BANG_ as a gun was fired somewhere behind him. He felt a sudden jolt of pain in his left chest, and a burst of momentum pushed him face first into a puddle.

Sam was dimly aware of footsteps approaching him from behind, and of hands rifling through his pockets. The pain in his chest was too strong for him to be too concerned, as was the creeping darkness, blacker than the night.

It wasn’t long before that darkness swallowed him.


	11. Always Buy Retail: Jamal Wonsi

Jamal Wonsi was walking home from Canal Street. It had been a relatively slow day, but Jamal was okay with that. Less talking was better for his sore throat. It also meant that he’d been able to shut the store promptly at 5 and head to the apartment in time for dinner with the others. While it was a step down from the house he’d lived in as an exchange student, the six-story walk-up was light years better than the village Jamal had grown up in.

Lost in his thoughts, Jamal accidentally ran into a fellow pedestrian. “My apologies,” he told the other, turning to face them. His eyes widened a little as he took in the other man’s imposing height and grim features, accented by a scar across his cheek. Instead of replying, the other man simply grabbed Jamal’s shoulder and dragged him off the sidewalk, into an alley that led into one of the many abandoned buildings in the neighborhood.

“Where are they?” the scarred man demanded.

“What?” Jamal asked. “Where are what?”

“Do not play games with me,” the bigger man warned, waving his other hand so Jamal noticed the blade in it for the first time. “What have you done with the passport?”

“What passport?” No sooner had the words left Jamal’s mouth than he felt a burning pain in his stomach.

The other man held up the blade again, now dripping with Jamal’s blood. “I know that you know where it is!”

“I do not!” Jamal replied, still thoroughly confused. Instead of explaining, the other man simply stabbed Jamal again.

It felt like forever, but it was probably only about ten minutes. The larger man kept asking about a passport. Jamal always insisted he knew nothing about a passport. Each of his answers was met with another stab of the knife, until his whole torso felt like it was on fire and his once white shirt was now spotted with red. Eventually, Jamal was too weak to stand, too weak to answer any more questions. It felt as if he was falling off a cliff; falling away from the fear, the confusion, the pain. Just falling, falling, falling into the black.


	12. Always Buy Retail: Darcy Cho

Darcy Cho wasn’t able to lock the door to her apartment right away that afternoon because her arms were loaded with three very full grocery bags. She did manage to bump it with her hip so that it sort of closed, but not even far enough for her to have latched the chain had her hands been free.

Once the groceries were set on the counter, Darcy dropped her new purse on the sofa and headed towards her bedroom to change out of her work clothes. She was halfway down the hall when she remembered that she hadn’t locked the front door. “Whoops,” she said to herself, turning on her heel and clip-clopping her way back towards the front room. She was halfway across the living room when the door flew open, revealing a very large, very determined looking man with a knife.

They both froze as their eyes landed on one another. He recovered first, glancing around the room quickly, his eyes settling on something behind Darcy. “Give me your purse,” he told her in a heavily accented voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Give me the purse,” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. She must not have moved fast enough to suit him, because he started coming towards her, knife raised.

Adrenaline surged through Darcy, and she instinctively lifted her arms to protect herself. The knife grazed her skin in several places before she finally got her voice working again. “Take it! Take it!” she told him, moving out of his way as best she could.

Her words got through to him. He stopped attacking her and yanked the purse off of the sofa. Darcy watched in silence as he used the knife to shred the purse, showing no regard for her belongings inside. When he turned back to her, eyes blazing, it was clear that whatever he was searching for wasn’t there. “Where is it?” he demanded.

“What?” she asked.

“Where is it?” His voice was once again low and dangerous.

“Look, there was nothing in the purse when I bought it.”

Without a word of warning, he moved. Before Darcy registered what had happened, he had grabbed her, paralyzing her with one incredibly muscled arm while the other held the knife just inches from her stomach. “Where is it?” Darcy marveled at how his voice stayed low, even though he was clearly agitated. When she didn’t answer, he plunged the knife into her.

The pain would have sent Darcy reeling, but his strong arm held her steady. “Where is it?” he asked again. Once more, the knife violated her when she didn’t answer. By the time he asked the question the third time, Darcy was too far-gone to even register that he had said anything. With a final thrust of the knife, Darcy Cho was engulfed in blackness.


	13. Home is Where the Heart Stops

_“I’m sorry, Mom. Maybe some other time.”_

Her daughter’s voice was tinny over the phone, but Susan Delgado could hear the regret. “That’s okay, sweetheart,” she assured her only child. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

_“Goodnight Mom.”_

“Goodnight JoAnn.” The line went dead. Susan turned off the cordless phone and returned it to its cradle. Well, there wasn’t much point in baking if JoAnn wouldn’t be there; Susan enjoyed it but it was always more fun when someone else was there to visit with. She got up from the couch to refill her glass of water, but paused when she heard scraping from the front door. Confusion gave way to terror when the door suddenly burst open and two men charged in with guns drawn.

“Mrs. Delgado,” the one man greeted her as he motioned for the other to shut the door. “Do what I say and you won’t get hurt.”

“What do you want?” Susan asked, pleased that her voice didn’t tremble.

“Your jewelry,” the man said. His face was covered by a black ski mask, but his smile was visible through the mouth hole. “Now be a good girl and open the safe for us.” He motioned with his gun.

Wishing she had thought to turn on her apartment’s alarm, Susan obeyed. If she obeyed, he wouldn’t have any reason to use the gun. Shaking slightly, she moved to one of the paintings that hung on the wall, and pulled it to the side to reveal the safe. She felt the man come up behind her, watching closely as she entered the combination. When the safe was opened, he shoved her out of the way and began pulling her jewels into a bag. “Now then,” he said, turning to her once he’d emptied the safe, “I’ll just have that lovely ring of yours and be on my way.”

Susan’s heart dropped. Her wedding ring… “No.”

He didn’t bother to reply. Instead he shook his head and motioned to someone behind her. Suddenly, Susan was caught up in the strong arms of the other robber. He must have snuck up behind her while his companion was busy at the safe.

“Now then,” the man in front of her said, pointing his gun squarely at her chest, “your ring.”

“No.” Susan clenched her hand into a fist.

Rather than get angry, the man simply shrugged and tucked his gun into his belt. He reached behind him and withdrew a pair of bolt cutters. “Then I’m just going to have to take it my way.”

The man holding Susan shifted his grip as she started struggling, pinning her arms and covering her mouth. The other man just kept coming, bolt cutters in hand, a small smile on his lips. He snatched Susan’s hand and pried her fingers apart. Deliberately, he opened the bolt cutters and placed them around her finger, just above her wedding ring. Susan tried to struggle some more, but the man holding her was too strong.

Susan closed her eyes just in time. The pain that blossomed from her finger was incredible, even stronger than that of childbirth. Blackness began pulling at her, but Susan managed to open her eyes to find the man holding up her wedding ring and examining it as he replaced the bolt cutters in a pocket on his jacket. “Lovely,” he murmured, dropping the ring in the sack and drawing his gun. He motioned to the other man, who let go of Susan and stepped away.

Blackness was still pulling at the edges of Susan’s vision, and the pain from her hand would not quit. Somehow, she stayed standing, although she swayed slightly. “Well well well. She has some fight left.” The man with the gun had picked up one of her goose-down pillows. “Too bad it won’t do you any good.” He walked right up to her, pressing the pillow to her chest and his gun to the pillow. He pulled the trigger.

Surprisingly, the pain from the gunshot wasn’t as bad as that of losing her finger. Susan marveled at this as her legs finally collapsed and the blackness rushed in. Her last thought was that her ring would never be passed on to JoAnn.


	14. Ghosts

_Shit shit shit shit._ This was _not_ going the way Cynthia Dern had planned. How could she have forgotten that Susan Mahler didn’t drink? This would have been so much easier if the woman had just drunk the glass of wine with the sleeping pill mixed in. Then she’d have just slipped off to dreamland and Cynthia could have killed her without any fuss. But no. Cynthia had forgotten that Susan didn’t drink. When she’d pressed Susan to drink anyway, the other woman had gotten suspicious and decided to leave. Cynthia had blocked her way, and Susan had taken refuge in the bathroom.

Now Cynthia was facing the shut bathroom door. She had tried opening it, but it seemed Susan had barricaded it somehow. _Time to change plans_. “Susan?” she called through the door. “Look Susan, I’m really sorry. Why don’t you come out of there and we can talk some more?”

“No thanks.” Susan’s voice was slightly muffled by the door, but she sounded resolute.

“I just want to make sure that I’m telling the story right,” Cynthia explained, referring to their earlier conversation about the book she was working on with Lee Wax. “And I need your help to do that.”

Silence greeted her words, and Cynthia began panicking. It was possible Susan had seen the motor oil in the tub, possible that she had deduced Cynthia’s real reason for bringing her here. Then the door started to open, and the panic receded. Susan really wasn’t that smart… Susan was charging at her through the now open door, hands raised.

Cynthia managed to get her own hands raised in time to ward off the first blow. She grabbed Susan’s hands in her own, and the two women struggled. They were pushing and pulling, moving across the floor. Cynthia began to slowly push Susan back into the bathroom, figuring that if she could just get her near the tub, this could still work out.

Out of nowhere, Susan summoned the strength to push back. Cynthia was so startled that she lost her footing and fell, cracking her head on the porcelain sink on the way down. The blow stunned Cynthia almost to unconsciousness. Through her nearly closed eyelids, she could just make out Susan standing over her. As if from far away, she felt Susan start dragging her along the floor. Then Susan was lifting her up, sliding her into the motor oil that filled the bathtub. The slick darkness engulfed Cynthia’s lower body, then her torso, her arms, her neck, and finally her head. The darkness poured into her, and Cynthia Dern let it carry her away.


	15. Little Girl Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter looks a little different since no murder took place.

Life is fun when you are Angela Kandella. Every morning, your Daddy wakes you up. He changes your diaper, gives you cereal, and sets you in front of the TV with your bunny. You get to watch Big Bird and Elmo for a while, and then Mommy gets up and hugs you and kisses you. If you get scared, you just have to yell, and Mommy or Daddy is there, holding you and telling you that it’s okay, nothing will hurt you. Sometimes, Mommy yells at Daddy, but if you cry then she stops. Once Mommy goes to work, it’s just you and Daddy. He spends the morning painting, and in the afternoons the two of you might go to the playground or the park, or he gets out the finger paints and the two of you make art together.

This morning starts like all of the others. You’ve only been watching Elmo for a few minutes when you hear someone moving around in the kitchen. Curious, you turn to see who it is, because you know that Mommy is still asleep. You are surprised to see your _tía_ Nina walking towards you, glancing every couple of steps to the room where Daddy is painting. She smiles at you, and places a finger on her lips, just like when you play hide-and-seek and she tells you to be quiet so that your _tío_ Juan does not find you. You smile back and reach for her, demanding to be picked up. She lifts you in to her arms and grabs your bunny, too. You are so happy to see her! She is acting a little silly, like climbing out of the kitchen window instead of going out through the front door, but you don’t really care. As she walks down the street, she tells you that you are going to stay with her for a few days, and that it’s okay because she’s already talked to Mommy about it. You trust her completely, and smile at her as she continues walking towards her apartment.


	16. A Death in the Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final episode of Season 1.

At some point, the pain had stopped being short and stabbing and had just become a dull throb where each of his hands should be. Dr. Joshua Leeds wasn’t quite sure when it had happened; sometime after the last of his fingernails were removed and the first of his fingers were broken. He really couldn’t narrow it down any more than that. Frankly, he wasn’t that interested in the pain. He was just trying to stay alive. “I told you, I don’t know where he is!”

Not that Maggie believed him. He still couldn’t believe that one of his trusted nurses was the one inflicting this torture on him, but apparently the world was a lot crazier than he’d previously imagined. Now, she quietly shook her head and snapped the last of his fingers. He heard the sound, but no fresh wave of pain assaulted him, for which he was grateful. “I believe you, Doctor,” she told him. “Unfortunately, that means that you’re of no further use to me.”

_Shit._ That really didn’t sound good, and Josh’s worst fears were confirmed when the brunette produced a clear plastic bag and duct tape from somewhere on her person. “No. No no no no.” He tried to struggle, but his hands were useless and his strength was mostly gone from standing up to her. He continued to protest as she pulled the bag over his head. Even before the duct tape sealed the plastic in place, he could already feel the air next to his face becoming hot and humid.

He had read about the dangers of too much carbon dioxide, back in medical school. He knew that it wouldn’t be long before a headache appeared, followed by shortness of breath and loss of lucidity. While he still could, he began a silent apology to his fiancée and his parents. By the time he’d finished, his head was pounding in time with his hands. He just wanted to sleep, sleep to get rid of this terrible headache. His eyes closed, and darkness rose up to carry away the pain.


	17. Deep in Death

It would only be two more hours, John Allen kept reminding himself. Two more hours until the glove of narcotics in his stomach was out of his system and he was at home with his family. He shook his head at his last thought. A year ago, he would never have imagined that he would be in this situation. Then again, a year ago he would not have thought that he’d be unemployed and owing money to a Russian mobster, either. _Two more hours_ , he repeated to himself. Another hour to get rid of the drugs and get paid, then a half-hour to pay the mobster, and a half-hour after that he’d be playing with his kids.

As he turned the corner onto 9th, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and something pressed into the small of his back. “Hello Mr. Allen,” a heavily accented voice said in his ear. “Keep walking.”

John closed his eyes in disappointment, but kept his feet moving. “Ilya,” he greeted the other man. “Where are we going?” Instead of replying, the Russian merely prodded him in the back again and guided him into a building and up to the roof. John finally managed to shake off Ilya’s hands and turned around in time to see the Russian holstering his gun.

“Where is the money?”

“I don’t have it yet,” John replied. “But I will soon,” he hastened to add, seeing the Russian start to swell with anger.

“Soon! Soon! Is always soon!” Ilya advanced towards John, hands outstretched. “For two months you have owed me money, and have not paid me anything!” His hands closed around John’s throat.

John struggled, trying to explain to the mobster about his plan, but it was no use. Ilya continued to rant as darkness appeared at the edges of John’s vision. It wasn’t long before the darkness consumed everything.


	18. The Double Down: Ashley Cosway

Ashley Cosway waved good-bye as Brandy left the office. She could always count on her friend for advice, even when she, Ashley, had to be vague about the details. For example, during this chat she’d asked how one would go about getting a restraining order, and Brandy hadn’t had a clue that Ashley wanted one against Jason.

Ashley pushed the door closed as she re-entered the office and started to clean up dinner. She and Jason had been married for several years now, and had known each other for even longer, but for a while now it had felt like they were fighting every other day. Lately, Jason had turned violent during these fights, grabbing her, shaking her, and once even hitting her. The restraining order was necessary for Ashley to begin the process of removing Jason from her life, a process which would likely end in divorce. _For a couple’s therapist, I sure messed up my own relationship._

At the sound of footsteps behind her, Ashley turned, expecting to see Jason walking in from the basketball game. Instead, her arms came up to fend off the blows of a strange man. Ashley cried out as the man grabbed both of her arms in one hand and pointed a gun at her.

_BANG!_

Darkness fell.


	19. The Double Down: Frank Anderson

It was a pleasant night for a walk. In fact, it was almost warm enough that Frank Anderson wished he had left his jacket back at the apartment, although occasionally a breeze would make him grateful for the warmth. Overall, it was a quiet night in the park. He’d already passed that gang of young men at the usual spot; the teacher in him still worried that these boys were throwing their lives away. Other than them, he hadn’t seen another living soul.

Lost in his musings, Frank didn’t notice the man walking towards him until they were within a few yards of one another. In contrast to Frank’s relaxed stride, the other fellow was moving so quickly Frank was surprised he didn’t start running. As they drew closer, Frank noticed that the other man had his hand in a jacket pocket, gripping something. They were almost on top of one another when the other man stopped in the middle of the path and withdrew a gun from his pocket. Shocked, Frank stopped barely three feet away. “What---”

_BANG!_

Darkness fell.


	20. Inventing the Girl

The sound of her heavy breathing and the sound of the nearby fountain filled her ears, yet Jenna McBoyd could have sworn that she heard someone following her. “I need a cab,” she muttered to herself as she continued towards the gigantic water and light display, “Gotta get out of here… Oh my God!” she yelled. Someone had yanked her arm, spinning around, and she was suddenly face to face with her husband, her Travis. “Did you follow me?” she asked, disbelieving. Of all the nights for him to get suspicious, why did it have to be tonight? “Wait…” _Let me explain_ , she wanted to say, but then she saw his hand raising. “Let go of me!”

The slap across her face hurt enough for her to scream, but he did let her go. “Why did you follow me?” she asked, one hand on her face, the other still holding that damn glass statue from Monroe’s apartment.

“Seems like I had a good reason,” he replied. The pain in his voice was too much on top of everything else that had happened recently.

“You don’t understand,” she accused him. “You’re just like everyone else.” He began walking towards her, fists clenched. “Stay away from me!” she told him, raising the glass obelisk in front of her. “Stay away!”

But he wasn’t listening. He reached for her wrists. They struggled, stumbling into the spray of the fountain. Somewhere in there she lost her grip on the statue. Then Jenna felt something sharp and cold slide into her body just below her ribs. She gasped with pain as the object slid back out and she herself slid to the ground. She felt the blood running out of her and mixing with the water of the fountain, then… nothing.


	21. Fool Me Once...

With less than two minutes to go until show time, Steven Fletcher checked that his arctic explorer gear was in place and that the boxes of fake snow were full. At one minute, he turned on the fans, setting the snow blowing around the room, and quickly rubbed his cheeks to turn them red. With a last check that he was close enough to the tent to hide the apartment, Steven turned on the web camera. “Hey kids!” he greeted his invisible audience. He paused for a moment, both to enter the tent and to give the kids time to greet him.

“I don’t know if you can tell,” he said as he sat down, “but a blizzard just blew in about an hour ago, and let me tell you it wasn’t easy setting up camp in _50 mile an hour winds!_ Good thing I was able to buy such a strong tent with all the--” a door slammed in the apartment, breaking into his flow. He looked behind him, but of course all he could see was the tent. “—uh, money you raised.” Quickly, he looked back at the camera; with any luck, he could play this off and the kids would never know anything was wrong. “Must be a polar bear out there looking for a little bit of trouble, huh? Anyway, I want to tell you about this herd of caribou I saw yesterday while I was out skiing. There were twelve of them, including four calves, who had just started to grow the velvet on their horns. Oh, talk about cute! So, there I am, I’m trying to pull out my camera when,” a movement behind the camera caught his eye. He looked up, right into the business end of Sue’s pistol. “Wait, what are you…” He saw her finger tighten on the trigger. “No, no, no, don’t, don’t!” He was standing as he spoke, knocking over the camera’s tripod in the process. Unfortunately, Sue didn’t seem inclined to listen. He hadn’t even reached his feet when she pulled the trigger

The _bang_ of the gun barely preceded the immense pain in his face. Steven Fletcher was dead before he hit the ground.


	22. When the Bough Breaks

“You’ve got it all wrong, Eliska,” Dr. Talbot told her.

“What do I have wrong?” Eliska Sokol asked, not caring that her voice was rising with every word. “This,” she brandished the photo that she had taken, “is _my_ son! _You_ switched our babies!” She had no proof of this last statement, but it made sense based on all of the evidence that she had gathered over the years: His son, born on the same day as her own, in the same hospital, where he worked.

Talbot merely stood there, shaking his head. “How?” he asked. Eliska thought that she could hear a slight tremble in his voice, but it was so faint that she couldn’t be sure. “How could I do that?”

Rather than admit that she had no idea, Eliska stayed silent. “Look,” Talbot continued, “let’s go over to the hospital right now. I can show you the records, and you’ll see. You’ll see that there is no way I could have switched the boys.”

Warily, Eliska agreed. She did not believe him, but if he wanted to pretend he was innocent who was she to stop him? After all, when the results came back from the lab, she would have proof that Zane Talbot was, in fact, her son. If Dr. Talbot wanted to protest his innocence then, he could talk to the police. For now, though, it didn’t hurt to humor the man. So she got a jacket and grabbed her purse and allowed Talbot to lead her out of the building. Lost in her own thoughts, Eliska didn’t notice when Talbot dropped behind. All that she knew was that pain suddenly blossomed at the back of her skull, and darkness rushed up to claim her.


	23. Vampire Weekend: Crow

As he walked among the gravestones, a transformation took place. Instead of Crow, the dark, brooding vampire, he found himself once again identifying as Matthew Freeman, a normal, artistic young man taking flowers to the grave of his mother. His eyes darted from stone to stone, until he found it: _Elizabeth Dryden._

Trembling, he knelt in front of the stone angel. “Hi Mom,” he whispered, gently placing the blooms at the base of the stone. His mouth opened several times; each time he closed it again without uttering a sound. In the end, he simply stayed on his knees, tears falling silently, as day turned into dusk.

Eventually, he got up, wiping off his tears as he began to move back through the graveyard. He was supposed to meet Damon before heading home; he needed to rehearse the horrid conversation that he had to have with his dad…. The sound of footsteps behind him startled him, especially since they stopped when he did. Whirling around, he found himself face to face with the last person he expected to see. “Janice!”

“What did you call me?” the short blonde woman asked him. “Since when have I been ‘Janice’?” She adjusted her leopard-spotted coat around her with her right hand, while her left was curiously still in its sleeve.

Rage filled Matthew. “Why keep up the charade? I know everything, alright? I found out all about what you did to my mom!”

“Oh really?” She was so _calm._ How could she be so calm? Didn’t she understand? “Matthew,” she continued, “whatever you think you found, you are wrong. _I_ am your mother, right? I’m the one that raised you, cared for you--”

“NO!” he shouted. Tears were beginning to fill his eyes again, but now they were tears of rage. That was his only excuse for what happened next: Janice suddenly bowled into him and he stumbled backwards, striking his head on a gravestone as he fell.

The pain was tremendous. Black crept up on the edges of his vision and his ears weren’t working. Yet he still saw Janice kneel next to him, and now she was holding something in her hand. Was that a, a stake? Her lips were moving, as well. Vaguely, he heard her call him a “wicked boy” as she set the stake over his heart and raised something in her other hand.

Her hand dropped, pain blossomed in his chest, and the darkness engulfed Crow for good.


	24. Vampire Weekend: Damon

Damon had just said good-bye to Crow when the front door burst open and a short blonde woman strode in.

“Hey!” Damon protested. “What the hell--” he trailed off as she came to a stop two paces away, holding a gun pointed directly at his chest. “Hey put that thing down!”

“How did you find out?” she asked, voice trembling.

“What?”

“How did you find out?” she asked again, more slowly.

“Lady, I don’t even know who you are,” Damon stated, but it was a lie. He had a bad feeling that this was Crow’s stepmom, who had, in fact, murdered his real mom. How had she found out that they knew? “Look,” he continued, taking a step towards her, “why don’t you just put the gun down, and we can _talk!_ ” On the last word he lunged for her, determined to get the weapon out of her hands. She ducked under and past him, and he heard the sound of breaking glass as he turned back around. He barely had time to register the broken bottle of India ink before pain blossomed in his chest.

Damon was dead before he hit the floor.


	25. Vampire Weekend: Elizabeth Dryden McGinty

_Eastern PA, 1991_

It was supposed to be a day for just her and her son, her Matthew. A drive over the state line into southeastern Pennsylvania to see the fall colors and relax.

She parked the car and they walked along the river. Matthew ran around and ahead of her, plowing through the leaves and laughing. Elizabeth smiled as she crested the hill and watched him jump into a leaf pile someone had made about halfway down the side. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth closed her eyes and tilted her face up, drinking in the sunlight and listening to the wind as it chased leaves across the grass.

A new sound off to her left had her cocking her head, confused. _That sounded like a footstep._ Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked to the side, in time to see a familiar figure striding up the hill. “Janis! What--” Her question was cut off by a sudden _crack!_

Elizabeth fell backwards, intense pain blossoming in her chest. Looking down, she saw a dark red stain forming on her shirt. Her breathing became labored, and it was all she could do to look back up at her nanny, still pointing a gun at her. Darkness began closing in at the edges of her vision. Janis’s lips moved, but it was becoming hard to hear, as if the darkness was a sponge that could absorb sound. The last thing Elizabeth saw was Matthew’s face as he climbed up the hill, still smiling.


	26. Famous Last Words

Only a couple of lights pierced the darkness in the recording studio. “Bri?” Hayley called, trying to spot the other woman in the gloom. Given the way that they’d parted earlier, Hayley couldn’t imagine why the producer had contacted her again. Of course, she planned to disappear for good that night, so stopping by the studio one last time really didn’t matter either way. There wasn’t anything Bri could say to make her change her mind; it wasn’t like Hayley could tell the older woman about what had happened with—a shadow moved near the recording booth, and Hayley nearly jumped out of her skin. “Bri?”

“It’s me, Hayley,” Ian Bush replied, stepping into the light.

“Get away from me, Ian,” Hayley stated, backing up slightly. “I’m here to see Bri.”

“She’s not here,” Ian informed her, taking a couple of steps forward. “I’m the one that texted you.”

“From her phone? Get real.”

“It’s true. She told me what happened earlier, and I wanted to apologize on her behalf.” He took another few steps forward as he spoke.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Hayley retreated a few paces. “You just stay away from me.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, continuing to move closer. “We don’t want you to leave.”

“I said stay away.” Hayley backed up again, felt the wall hit her shoulder blades. When Ian kept coming, she pulled out the gun, leveling it at him. “You’re just afraid of me telling someone about how you came on to me.”

Ian stopped when he saw the gun, but kept his voice calm. “Now why would you do that? It’s not like anything happened…” He took another couple of steps forward.

“Stay _back_ ,” Hayley repeated.

“You won’t shoot,” he stated confidently. He was almost within arm’s reach.

“Don’t push me,” Hayley warned, but he kept coming. Really scared now, she aimed at his chest and pulled the trigger.

The recoil threw off her aim, and instead of hitting Ian the bullet struck something on the far side of the room. Hayley tried to bring the gun back down, but Ian moved too fast, wrapping his arms around her and hanging on tightly. Hayley struggled, dropping the gun in the process, yet Ian managed to maneuver his arms into a hold around her neck and shoulders. Panic fed her strength, but it wasn’t enough. Even as she started to have difficulty breathing, Hayley felt a sudden _pop_ in her neck.

Darkness engulfed her.


	27. Kill the Messenger: Caleb Shimansky

One of the reasons Caleb enjoyed his job as a bike messenger was the adrenalin rush that went along with dodging New York City traffic. Horns honked, cabbies shouted and swore, and Caleb sped through it all. His heart raced as he sped through an intersection just as the light changed. He’d barely entered the next intersection when a large black car came racing towards him. Caleb had nowhere to go: the car struck his side. He had a brief sensation of being airborne before the pavement rushed up to meet him with a sickening _crunch._


	28. Kill the Messenger: Brady Thompson

Brady Thompson’s mind whirled as he and the other inmates were let into the prison yard for the morning exercise period. The implications of the phone calls that he’d just made weighed heavily on him, but Aunt Sally didn’t really understand what was going on. His wife, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was asking of her…. “Hey Brady!”

“What’s up?” Brady greeted Johnson, the other inmate. Before Johnson could reply, though, Brady felt a sharp pain in his side. Brady groaned as something twisted, and he could feel his jumpsuit getting soaked with blood. When that something was pulled out, Brady collapsed to the pavement. The trickle of blood became a flood, and as the world grew dark Brady prayed that his wife and son would be okay.


	29. Kill the Messenger: Olivia Debiasse

_New York City, 1999_

_Why do rich people think that they are so much smarter than everyone else?_ Olivia Debiasse fumed as she entered her apartment building. How stupid did Mrs. Wellsley think she, Olivia, was? She’d only met the man a couple of times, but Olivia was reasonably certain that Winston Wellsley was gay. He couldn’t possibly be Olivia’s father. That left only Blake Wellsley. Olivia had meant to confront him tonight at the party, but then that annoying brat of a Wellsley cousin had cornered her, insisting that she leave. Well fine. _I’ll just find a way to approach him on the street or in his office_ , she thought to herself as she let herself into her apartment. Kicking the door shut behind her, Olivia dropped her keys and purse on the small table in the entranceway. She was just taking off her coat when she heard a sound behind her. Pain blossomed in the back of her skull as she turned, and she landed hard on the floor. Another burst of pain, and the world went dark.


	30. Love Me Dead: Jack Buckley

Jack Buckley heard his jacket rip at the same time pain blossomed in his jaw.

“Oops.” Jack brought his head back around to see Knox grinning at him. “Sorry about the jacket.” Still smiling, Knox’s next punch landed square in Buckley’s solar plexus. As Buckley doubled over, Knox stepped back a pace. Wheezing, Jack tried to scramble out of the way of Knox’s kick; the foot glanced off of his arm, instead of someplace else.

Knox’s next kick took out Jack’s knee, dropping him to the pavement. His head hit the ground hard, throwing a haze over his surroundings. He felt another couple of blows land, then Knox’s hands on his shoulders, clutching him, picking him up.

“Sorry about this, Jackie Boy.” Knox’s voice sounded far away, even though he was dragging Jack somewhere. “But Scarlett insists.”

Through half-closed eyes, Jack watched as they approached the waist high concrete barrier surrounding the top level of the parking garage.

“Goodbye, Jack.”

Buckley felt a final blow to the back of his skull. Gravity dropped away, and Jack Buckley, assistant district attorney, fell into the black.


	31. Love Me Dead: John Knox

John Knox hated surprises.

He always went out of his way to plan for every contingency in a job, which allowed him to avoid surprises. No surprises meant no chances for the cops to catch him. Given that he’d stayed out of jail all of these years, he thought that this system worked rather well.

But now that system was shot all to hell.

“What’s going on?” John growled, confronting Scarlett in the entryway of the hotel room. She’d been acting odd since he’d picked her up from the hospital, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“I’m sorry, John,” the blonde replied, “but I’m afraid you’ve outlived your usefulness.”

Angry, John started towards her, but a sound in the hall brought him to a halt, drawing his attention to the door.

“No! No!” Scarlett’s terrified yells brought his head snapping back around just in time for her to fire the gun she held.

Two shots. Two stabbing pains in his chest, and John Knox collapsed into darkness.


	32. One Man's Treasure

Sam Parker, alias Jake Holland, swore to himself as he carried the very full and very smelly trash bag to the garbage room on his floor. If he’d not been so preoccupied after finding out exactly what New York Recycle was up to, he’d have remembered to empty the damn trash can on Friday before he left for home. _As long as Andy gets here_ , he thought. _I’ll show him those pictures, and he’ll help me contact the appropriate authorities._

Sam heaved the bag onto the top of the overflowing pile of refuse. _Damn shame. So much here could be recycled or reused. Our poor planet…_

“Evening, Jake.”

Sam spun around, coming face to face with the head of New York Recycle. “Mr. Carlberg!”

“Or should I call you Sam?” the other man asked, lifting a soda bottle and pressing it into Sam’s chest.

_Wait, what?_ Sam looked down in confusion. His eyes widened when he saw the gun on the other end of the bottle.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Carlberg decided. “Goodbye.”

A muffled _thump_ was the last thing Sam ever heard.


	33. The Fifth Bullet: Jeremy Preswick

“I already told you,” Victor Fink repeated, “I don’t have the painting! If I did, I’d give it to you!”

“Look Fink,” Jeremy stated, trying to reign in his anger, “I don’t know how you did it. But the painting that’s sitting in my apartment is _not mine._ ” He’d stated this several times already, but Fink didn’t seem to understand. “Your assistant,” Jeremy now said, pointing to where the man in question stood on the other side of the desk, “came by with your offer. I said no. He left…. Hey!” He grabbed Fink as the man tried to walk away.

Fink struggled in his grasp. “Get off of me! I’ll call the cops!”

Jeremy let go and stepped back. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, taking a deep breath. “But I would really, really like to have my painting back.”

“I can see that,” Fink replied, rubbing his arms where Jeremy had grabbed him. “Darius,” he started, turning to face the younger man, “did you…” Fink’s voice trailed away, his eyes going wide.

Jeremy turned also, and found himself looking at the business end of some sort of gun. Before he could say anything, Darius fired. Pain spread across Jeremy’s chest, knocking him backwards. Then pain blossomed in his skull, and blackness swallowed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this the death scene of the "old" Jeremy.


	34. The Fifth Bullet: Victor Fink

Victor Fink stared in disbelief at the gun Darius held. The sound of the piece being fired jolted him into action: Victor turned and ran for his life. A second shot followed, and the gallery owner felt a sharp pain in his back. He kept running. Two more shots rang out; he heard a crack as something off to his right broke. Victor had almost made it to the stairs when a fourth shot rang out. This time, darkness followed close behind the pain. Victor felt himself hit the ground, and then… nothing.


	35. A Rose for Everafter

Sophie Ronson swiped angrily at the tears on her cheeks as she opened the door to her hotel room.

“Well?” Teddy Murphy asked.

“Greg turned me down,” Sophie informed him, striding past where he sat and opening the wardrobe. “And I quit.” She pushed aside clothes, making room for the dress she was about to take off, and tossed the video camera off to the side. She was just reaching for the zipper when two hands closed around her neck from behind and started squeezing.

As her throat closed up, Sophie groped blindly for her back, trying to hit Teddy. Spots on her back started to hurt, and darkness danced at the edges of her vision. Breathing was now impossible. Teddy wasn’t letting go. Darkness closed in. Sophie tried to pry off his hands, but it was no use. Her last thought was of Greg and Kyra, an apology for ruining their big day.


	36. Sucker Punch

The last week had been one of the most stressful of Jack Coonan’s life. Since he worked as an enforcer for the Westies, that was saying something. He hadn’t told Finn how crazy this assignment had gotten, nor that he, Jack, had felt it necessary to reach out to the feds for help. Finn’s reaction when he eventually learned about this was only one of the things stressing Jack out…

A knock at the door exploded into his thoughts. Jack jumped out of his seat, drawing his 9-millimeter on instinct. He debated reaching for the 12 gauge instead, but another round of knocking interrupted. “Jack!” a familiar voice called through the door. “It’s me!”

_Dick,_ Jack thought. Still on edge, Jack made his way over to the front door and peered through the peephole. Sure enough, there stood his younger brother, looking too good for the neighborhood. Sighing in relief, Jack put the safety on and slid the gun back into his waistband before unlocking and opening the door. “Dick,” he greeted the other man. “What are you doing here?”

“A guy can’t come say hi to his big brother?” Dick grinned. “I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks, so I thought I’d drop by.”

Still a little uneasy, Jack returned the smile. “Come on in,” he invited, stepping aside. Dick did so, and Jack quickly closed and re-locked the door.

“Everything okay, Jackie?” Dick asked. “You seem a little on edge.”

“Just work stuff,” Jack replied, knowing that Dick would take the hint and drop the subject. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, pushing past the younger man and heading for the kitchen. He barely registered a hand on his shoulder before pain blossomed in his lower back, spreading rapidly to consume his whole body. Something twisted, the pain increased, and merciful unconsciousness swept over Jack.


	37. The Third Man: Douglas Bishop

After months of insanity, Doug Bishop finally reached his breaking point standing in a stranger's apartment as he watched his brother-in-law loom over a terrified newspaper boy, holding a syringe of ketamine.

"That's enough!" Doug snapped, shoving Stan away from the kid. "I didn't sign up for this!"

Stan rounded on him, brandishing the syringe. "He's seen too much! You want to lose that much money?" Behind Stan, the newspaper boy took the opportunity to scram. Doug wished he could do the same.

_ Wait a second. I can. _ __ "I didn't sign up for this," he repeated. "I'm done." With that, he turned his back on his brother-in-law. The carpeting on the room's floor muffled sound, but he did hear Stan's footstep. Doug turned his head to look behind him just as pain pierced he back of his neck. He felt the pinch of a something being injected into his body. _The ketamine_ , he thought as his body began to feel extremely light. With an effort, he managed to turn and look at Stan, but there were two of him now... Something banged into Doug's shins, and he fell on to a pile of softness. _Just gonna stay here 'til the Stans leave,_ he thought before surrendering to the darkness.


	38. The Third Man: Anton Francis

“Done,” Anton Francis announced as he stuffed the second snake into the cooler Stan had provided. “What next?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Stan replied from right behind him.

Before Anton could ask what that meant, he felt a prick and the unmistakable sensation of a needle sliding into his neck. He surged to his feet even as he felt cold spreading through his body from the injection site. Whirling, he took a swing at Stan, but the sudden lack of gravity caused him to miss, overbalance, and fall. Before he could even think about getting up, darkness crowded the edges of his vision, quickly overwhelming him.


	39. The Suicide Squeeze

Pain erupted between Cano Vega’s legs. He fell to his knees, dropping the envelope of money and clutching his groin. Shock and anger also competed for his attention; shock that Bobby had actually hit him, anger that Bobby had lied to him all these years.

Doubled over, he watched as Bobby’s shoes moved out of his line of sight. “I’m sorry about this, Cano,” the older man said. “But business is business.”

Before Cano could ask what Bobby meant, pain blossomed from the back of his head, pitching him forward. _Lo siento mi hija,_ Cano thought. Pain shot through his head again, sending him sprawling into darkness.


	40. The Mistress Always Spanks Twice

“It’s over, Danielle,” Jessica Margolis told her roommate as she walked in to her bedroom. “We’re through.”

“We are NOT through!” Danielle stomped after her.

“Yes we are!” Jessica affirmed, rubbing at her temples. It had been a long, stressful day, and all she wanted was to sleep… A jolt in her back sent her stumbling. Her foot caught the edge of the bed and she fell, hitting her head on the bedside table. “Shit!” she swore, climbing up and sitting on the bed, holding her head in her hands. “I hate you!”

Hands pushed on her again, and Jessica landed flat on her back on the bed. “Hey!” She had a brief glimpse of Danielle before soft darkness fell. _A pillow!_ She screamed with all her might and flailed her arms, trying to hit Danielle. But eventually, the darkness became all consuming.


	41. Tick, Tick, Tick...: Alex Peterman

Technology was great, until it failed. Thankfully, Alex Peterman’s cell phone died on his twice-daily trip through Grand Central. It only took a few steps to change his path so that it ended at one of the still-standing phone booths. He’d barely sat down and picked up the phone before the door flew open again. “What the…?”

The last thing Alex saw was a man dressed all in black, eyes covered in sunglasses and a lowered baseball cap. Alex barely registered the gun he held before pain erupted from multiple points in his chest, and the blackness of the man’s clothes became the entirety of Alex’s field of view.


	42. Tick, Tick, Tick...: Michelle Lewis

It might be childish, but even as an adult Michelle Lewis loved riding the carousel in Central Park. After a long day of walking dogs, just being able to sit down and watch the world go by left her feeling refreshed. The horses could be fun, but today she opted to sit on one of the benches. The ride was already moving when someone slid in to the seat beside her and jammed something in her ribs. Michelle barely managed to turn and look at her attacker before pain burst through her, reaching up her side and dragging her down into darkness.


	43. Tick, Tick, Tick...: Sandra Keller

Sandra Keller usually avoided parking garages. Something about the cavernous space, low ceilings, and crappy fluorescent lighting combined to give her the creeps. Tonight, though, she’d had no choice, and so she walked as quickly as she could without running towards her car. Muffled sounds off to her right drew her attention to where a man stood talking on a payphone. As she watched, he finished his conversation and set the receiver on top of the boxy body of the phone, rather than hanging up. _Odd_ , she thought. _Why would he---_ Turning away from the phone, the man began moving towards her, as if he’d been waiting for her.

_Shit!_ Sandra broke in to a run, or tried to, anyway. Within the first couple of steps, the heel broke off one of her designer shoes and she stumbled. Strong arms encircled her from behind, not helping but hurting. She screamed and struggled, trying to break her captor’s grasp. Incredibly, she felt his hold loosen and managed to duck away, resuming her stumbling run for the safety of her car. She’d barely made it a few steps when a bright spot of pain appeared in her chest, too sudden and hot to be a stitch. By the time she looked down and saw the spreading blood, pain erupted from another point on her torso, then a third, and then a fourth. Her limp body tumbled to the ground. Sandra barely had time to think, _I hate parking garages,_ before the pain disappeared into enveloping black.


	44. Tick, Tick, Tick.../Boom!: Ben Conrad

The last two weeks had been a nightmare, and as Ben Conrad got hauled out in to the light of day, he desperately hoped he had, at last, woken up. The man he knew only as Scott propped him against the recliner and peeled the duct tape off of his ankles, and wrists. “Come on Ben,” Scott said, lifting him to his feet, “you need a change of clothes.”

_I’m still dreaming. I’m not awake, this isn’t real, it’s not happening._ The words that had become his mantra ran on a loop in his mind as Ben dumbly helped Scott peel off the clothes he’d been wearing for far too long and put on clean jeans and sweatshirt. “Here we go,” Scott stated, settling a baseball cap on Ben’s head and stepping off to the side. “And now the finishing touch.”

Cold pressed into Ben’s hand, rousing him from his stupor enough to look down. _Oh, a gun. That’s new._ “Okay Ben.” Scott’s voice sounded oddly distant. “Time for the big finish.” As if watching a movie, Ben saw Scott’s hand wrap around his own, molding his fingers to the grip and trigger of the gun and lifting it until the tip of the barrel pressed in to Ben’s temple.

_I’m still dreaming. I’m not awake, this isn’t real, it’s not happening._ “Goodbye Ben.” Without any say from him, Ben’s finger squeezed the trigger. Heat and pain shot through his head, followed by merciful darkness. The nightmare had ended.


	45. Boom!: Gloria Rodriguez

Gloria Rodriguez knew she shouldn’t cut through alleys. Anyone living in New York with half a brain knew that alleys were the territory of the homeless and the desperate. Yet there was one alley on the way home from the hospital that she sometimes passed through after a particularly hard day, because it cut off two blocks from the commute and let her avoid one of the busier intersections in the neighborhood. After a rough day like today, she considered the mild danger of the detour a fair trade for making it home a good half-hour earlier.

She’d made it barely ten feet down the alley when someone shoved her in to the wall. Her head knocked the bricks; when she opened her eyes, she saw a large man with his arm pressed against her upper chest holding a gun pointed at her face. “Your phone.”

The barely restrained fury and hint of madness in his voice unnerved her more than the gun. “Sure, sure,” she replied, trying to keep her tone calm and even. Without taking her eyes off the weapon, she reached into her pocket, grabbed the device, and passed it to the gunman. He shifted so that the gun now rested against her chest and stepped back, dialing a number as he did so. Gloria tried to keep her heartbeat under control, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

Whoever he called clearly picked up right away. “You are supposed to be dead,” he stated. Gloria felt her eyes widen in shock. _Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit._ “It was supposed to be over, Nikki,” he continued, growing angrier with each word. “It was supposed to be done!” He pushed the gun harder in to Gloria’s chest and cocked it.

_SHIT!_ Gloria started struggling, trying to get away, but he was too strong. “But now,” he spoke in to the phone, and Gloria screamed, praying the other party could send help, “now I have to keep going.” With that, he dropped the phone.

The last sounds Gloria heard, louder than her own screams, were three gunshots.


	46. Wrapped up in Death: Will Medina

Will Medina barely noticed his surroundings as he walked home. The revelations of the past two hours had sent his brain in to overdrive. The news that the mummy was too young for accurate carbon dating caused him to question everything he’d ever noticed about the body, starting with its origin. He’d gone back to his notes on the dig, and discovered something disturbing: There had only been five slave mummies when they opened the tomb initially…

The blare of a cab’s horn and the subsequent exchange with the cabbie jarred him from his thoughts only temporarily; as he approached his building the face of the presumed jaguar victim Nicole swam through his mind. Mechanically, he pulled out his key, stuck it in the lock, and turned it. Or rather, tried to turn it. The lack of movement pulled him back to the real world again. _Damn thing._ He tried twisting the key again, but it refused to move. Something hit him on the shoulder; he looked to find dust and pieces of concrete. He spared a glance for the gargoyles on the roof before returning to fighting with the lock. A loud scraping sound tugged his gaze skyward again just in time to see a stone figure hurtling towards him. Pain exploded in his head, followed by darkness.


	47. Wrapped up in Death: Nicole Graham

_When did I turn into the kind of girl who would walk through a jungle at night to a recently excavated tomb because a guy wants to meet me there?_ Not only was it a bad idea to walk away from the lights of the camp, but as Nicole Graham approached the dig site she also found herself thinking that this was a lot of trouble for a silly crush. Sure, Will Medina was cute, smart, and funny, but Rachel had her eye on him, and Nicole was her friend… She shook herself out of her thoughts as another light came in to view. “Will? Is that you?”

“Sorry, Dr. Medina couldn’t make it. Will I do instead?” Dr. Stanford Raynes stepped in front of her.

That did it. “Thanks, but no,” Nicole replied, doing her best to suppress a shudder. “I’m just going to head back to camp.” _Creep._ She turned around, but was stopped when a hand landed on her shoulder.

“Oh come on, Nicole.” He probably meant for it to sound endearing, but Nicole just thought it sounded like a whine. “Give me a chance. You’ll like me once you get to know me.”

“I said no, Dr. Raynes,” Nicole stated, putting as much force in her voice as possible. She shrugged his hand off and began picking her way back along the path, moving as fast as safely possible.

The snap of a twig behind her was her only warning. Pain erupted from the back of her head, sending her face first in to the dirt. The last thing she ever saw was Stanford Raynes’ boot, just before another burst of pain washed away all of her cares.


	48. The Late Shaft

_I’m getting too old for this_ , Bobby Mann thought as he walked down the half-deserted sidewalk, rubbing at his chest. _Why did I get in to this business in the first place? The head of the network hates me, I pay more in alimony each month than most people make in a year, I have to fire my best friend, and I have to walk home because I can’t even remember where I left the damn car. What time is it anyway?_ He scanned the buildings around him; surely one of them had a digital time display in the window. _Why does my chest hurt so much?_ _Ah, there!_

Of course the store was across the street, so Bobby headed for the nearest crosswalk. _Speaking of the car, where did I leave my watch?_ A wave of pain shot through him, sending him stumbling against the nearest building. _Good God, what is wrong with me? I’m sweating like a pig!_ Carefully, he pushed away from the wall. _Never mind the time, I just need to get home._ He took several steps, breathing hard. A voice behind him called out, “Sir? Sir?” as another wave of pain overwhelmed him. Distantly, Bobby felt the jolt as his knees hit concrete. He blinked; when he came to, he felt rough pavement beneath his cheek. More pain erupted from his chest, and this time when he blinked, his eyes didn’t open again.


	49. Den of Thieves

The current cut off, and Paul Finch felt his body relax back in to his seat. “I told you,” he ground out, “I was working alone.” _Damn if I’ll give Ike up to you, you slimy jackass._ His muscles had stopped screaming some time ago and now throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

“Well, if that’s true, then I guess I have no more use for you.” Through the haze of pain, Paul watched as Racine’s enforcer revved the car’s engine again. A mere second later, Paul’s muscles screamed again; the pain in his wrists was particularly horrendous. Unlike the previous umpteen times however, the agony didn’t stop. Dimly, Paul heard himself scream. When the blackness swallowed him, it was a welcome relief.


	50. Food to Die For

The slam of the kitchen door jarred Balthazar Wolf’s hand just as he placed the heart mold on the cake. Thankfully, he didn’t break it.

“Wolf!”

The chef felt his stomach drop. This would not be pleasant. “David,” he greeted his foster brother as he turned away from the cake.

“What the hell is going on?!” David Nicolides practically shouted.

Denying things wouldn’t help the matter. “Did you talk to Cecily?”

“She’s mine!” David’s voice cracked.

“No, she’s not,” Wolf replied. He felt anger blow through him, but he didn’t let it catch hold of him. Arguments wouldn’t do any good. “She’s not,” he repeated once more before turning back to the cake. Everything needed to be perfect…

A sound behind him caught his attention. Wolf turned to investigate and pain blossomed in his head. He fell to the floor, his vision blurring at the edges. Vaguely, he watched as David dropped something on the ground and stepped away. Another sound, and cold washed over him, stealing his breath away and hastening the arrival of the darkness.


	51. Overkill

_It’s like something out of a nightmare._ Damian Wilder lies on his stomach on his bed, one shoulder and arm and his head dangling over the side. Pain radiates out from the left side of his chest, and he can feel the sheets and mattress beneath him turning sticky with blood. _My blood._ He has no idea how long he’s been lying here; long enough that his killer has walked in and out of the room several times. He still can’t believe Lisa Wilder, one of his best and longest-serving employees, shot him. The pain comes in waves, each one stronger than the last, and he can barely make another attempt to grab his phone from where it fell on the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lisa’s feet as she enters the room again. This time though, she stops suddenly; after standing still for a moment, she turns and exits at high speed.

Barely has he heard the front door close before the sound of the patio door opening breaks the near-silence of the bedroom. Damian struggles to lift his head, hoping to see his savior, but his head is so heavy all he can see are sneaker-clad feet. There are sounds as something heavy is lifted off of the bedside table. Then pain erupts in the back of Damian’s head, and the nightmare mercifully ends.


	52. A Deadly Game

_“Negative 223. You know the rules.”_

The line goes dead and a brief wave of confusion washes through me. I gave the sign to call off the game! Didn’t I? It doesn’t matter. I’m still standing under a light in the middle of Central Park at night and someone is chasing me. I hang up the payphone, looking around for cover. If I can find someplace to hide, maybe whoever’s chasing me will just pass me by… _The bridge._ Perfect.

It can’t be more than a few seconds before I run into darkness. I can hear the faint echo of my footsteps over the beating of my heart. _Hopefully he passes me by,_ I think, looking back up the path.

A sound behind me sets my head spinning back around, just in time to be blinded by a high-power flashlight. I squint reflexively, trying to see who’s there, just as I hear a _pew_. A bright point of pain erupts in my chest. I notice the outline of a gun as I hear four more shots. That first spot of pain is joined by others, burning, all-consuming. As if from far away, I feel my body drop. Dampness immediately seeps through my shirt, but it’s not enough to stop the pain from dragging me into darkness.


	53. A Deadly Affair: Chloe Whitman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Season 3!

Under normal circumstances, Chloe Whitman would have confirmed the identity of her visitor before she opened the door to her apartment. Fear overrode common sense however, making her jump and fumble the latch when the knock sounded. “You got here fast!”

“Oh did I?”

Chloe’s eyes snapped up to meet Kitty’s and then down to the rather large gun the other woman held.

_Shit._

Chloe began backing away. Kitty lifted the gun and fired. The sound reached Chloe as she felt a literal hole being torn in her chest. Sobbing in pain and terror, Chloe turned and ran back into the apartment. She heard more gunshots, each of which brought more pain to her torso. No longer thinking, operating on instinct, Chloe ran for the only other exit: the large window, now shattered. A final shot, more pain in not just her chest but also her arms, legs, and face, and then Chloe fell down, down, down into darkness.


	54. A Deadly Affair: Maya Santori

Maya Santori breathed a little easier as she hung up the phone. Richard Castle wasn’t what you’d call a good friend, but he was certainly turning into a useful acquaintance. Hopefully he could help Chloe, too. _No way anyone can help Todd now._

A splintering noise behind her set her spinning around just as the door to the apartment flew open on its own. It bounced back and smacked the gun Kitty held in her raised fist. _Gun._ Maya scrambled for the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind her, eyes frantically searching for the gun she’d borrowed just hours earlier.

The bedroom door flew open just as she found the weapon. She grabbed for the gun as she spun around, coming face to face with the business end of Kitty’s piece. The sound of the gunshot deafened her as the force of the blast knocked her backwards. More noise, more shots fired, pain spreading like wildfire through her body. At the edge of her awareness, Maya felt the gun slide out of her grasp as darkness closed in around her.


	55. A Deadly Affair: Todd McCutchin

The day hadn’t been too busy, and his back was killing him, so Todd McCutchin decided to take a short break. He’d almost gotten settled on the couch when someone knocked on the door. “Who is it?”

“Kitty,” the muffled voice replied.

Todd felt his heart skip a beat. _Why is she here? Does she know?_ “Coming!” _Play it cool. Cool._ Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. “What a pleasant surpri…” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the large gun in his part-time employer’s hand.

“No, it’s not,” Kitty replied. She squeezed the trigger.

The first shot knocked Todd back into the apartment, doused his body in pain, and narrowed his vision to almost nothing. From a distance, he felt his legs hit the couch. Another blast, another wave of pain, and he fell into the darkness.


	56. He's Dead, She's Dead

Pain washed through her body, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Vivian Marchand couldn’t see a damn thing, but that’s what happened when you’d been stabbed in the neck and stuffed inside a sleeper sofa. Fortunately, she didn’t need to see the phone still in her hand to dial her daughter’s number. _If I can just get through…._

But she had no idea how long she’d been in the sofa, or how much blood she’d lost. Given that her thoughts were becoming fuzzy, it was probably a lot. She thought she heard knocking at one point, and tried to yell for help, but couldn’t get enough air to do more than squeak. The movement of her body in that attempt only resulted in wedging the thing in her neck in further, sending a fresh wave of pain through her. Eventually, the knocking faded away, or maybe it hadn’t been there to begin with, and Vivian resumed trying to call her daughter. But where had she left off? Five five five, two—damn, what number came next? How could she forget Penny’s number? She’d just spoken with her that afternoon! They talked about plans for the weekend, which led to remembering how they spent time together when Penny was a child, and oh how big she’s gotten! An adult now, with a job and a place of her own…Vivian’s thoughts ran away with her, and eventually the external darkness became internal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per the episode, Ms. Marchand was not the only murder victim. However, this is the only chapter for the episode, as selenium poisoning doesn't lend itself to the format of these shorts.


	57. Under the Gun

The sight of the open outer office door temporarily drives all other thoughts from Deon Carver’s mind. He pulls out his gun and quietly slides into the space, glancing at the mess the burglar left behind. Movement catches his eye, and he looks up to see a silhouette glide across the frosted glass of the inner office. _Break in to my office will you?_ Raising the piece in a ready position, he kicks open the door. Noise off to the left draws his attention. He turns to look, only to feel a truly incredible pain blossom on the back of his head and drops him to the floor. Footsteps sound loudly in his ear, echoing across the floor. Through the red haze descending across his vision, Deon tries to follow the line of the person’s leg, hoping to see who it is that’s dropped him. But as he keeps looking up, he sees… _Brooke?_ It’s his last thought before the red haze turns black and swallows him.


	58. Punked

Even though he ran the numbers multiple times, Daniel Goldstein still feels his heart race as he counts off paces. _Six, seven._ Is he really going to go through with this? _Ten, eleven._ The pistol feels heavier with every step. How did Adam manage to get these things out of the club, anyway? _Fourteen, fifteen._ At least Julia will see this as proof of his manliness. Maybe now she’ll get serious with him. _Eighteen, nineteen, twenty._ As the nearby church strikes midnight, Danny spins on his heel and raises the pistol. In the distance he can see Adam doing the same. _Deep breath, aim low._ Danny closes his left eye, sights along the barrel, and… _BANG._ Danny barely has time to think that the noise is too much for only two pistols, even two antiques, before pain blossoms in his chest, pushing him backwards. Vaguely, he’s aware of hitting the grass, staring up at the sky, and the darkness spreads over everything.


	59. Anatomy of a Murder

_How did my life get so complicated?_ Valerie Munroe, M. D., wonders. The hospital is busy, she’s investigating one of the nurses for equipment theft, and she spends her off hours caring for an old drug lord. _Well, if you wanted dull, you’d’ve gotten a job at an office somewhere._ She shakes her head as she continues on down the sidewalk. Speaking of the drug lord, she needs to thank Cesar again for the bracelet. Just as Valerie passes by one of the many alleys on her route, she hears a heavy footstep right behind her. Before she can turn to see who it is, pain explodes in the back of her head. She drops, but strong arms catch her, pulling her to the side. Her legs hit something at knee height, pain explodes again at the back of her head, and she pitches forward into darkness.


	60. 3XK: Linda Russo

Like any city dweller, Linda Russo knows better than to walk down alleys, particularly after dark. For the most part, she usually heeds that wisdom. But when, after spotting a creeper under a streetlight, the available options are walk on the main streets for an extra block and take fifteen additional minutes to get to her apartment or cut through an alley and be home in five, Linda feels willing to risk the smaller passageway.

Her heart pounds loudly in her ears as she turns into the gap between buildings. She wishes that she’d worn flats today; the heels slow her to a fast walk. The walls beside her muffle some sounds, such as the small amount of traffic at this time of night, and amplify others, such as her breathing and footfalls. She glances over her shoulder again, hoping… _shit._

The creeper sees her looking, and starts running, pulling something out of his pocket as he does so. Linda doesn’t wait to see what. Heels be damned, she turns and tries to run. She gets all of three steps before her heel catches on something and she stumbles. She recovers her balance only to feel something drop around her neck from behind and start squeezing. She claws at her throat, reaches behind herself to try to poke her attacker’s eyes, stomps her feet in the hopes of using one of those damned high heels to her advantage and take out one of his feet. But her attacks are fruitless. Her brain continues to scream for oxygen. Blackness dances at the edges of her vision. By the time her knees hit the pavement, it’s nearly blocked her view of her dismal surroundings. Shortly thereafter, it’s the only thing she sees.


	61. 3XK: Kim Foster

Kim Foster doesn’t think twice when the gasman knocks on her door and asks to be let inside. If there’s a gas leak, she wants it taken care of! But she’s barely closed the door behind him when he attacks, trying to get something around her neck from behind. Years of gymnastics training give her enough flexibility to slip his grip. Unfortunately, he’s now between her and the door, a green and white rope stretched between his hands. _When in danger, when in doubt…_ She lets out a wild yell as she feints toward him. The move startles him enough that when she abruptly changes direction and heads for the living room, he takes an extra moment to catch on. Sadly, she only makes it as far as the couch before he catches up. Something, maybe his foot, tangles with her own feet, dumping her on the sofa. She lands on her side and manages to trade blows with him, even land a knee to his solar plexus. As he doubles over gasping for air, she scrambles to get away, get the phone, call for help. But the rope swiftly descends in her field of vision and immediately tightens around her neck. She continues to struggle, manages to land a few more hits, but the rope continues to squeeze. Her limbs feel heavy. Her vision tunnels. She can feel her blows weakening. She can only see vague outlines. Does she even have arms and legs anymore? The outlines blend into a sea of darkness, and she surrenders.


	62. Almost Famous

_How the hell did my life come to this?_ Derek Brookner wonders as he walks back to his car. _I’m supposed to be a famous actor by now. Not a stripper who doubles as a con artist._ Withdrawn into his own thoughts, Derek doesn’t even look up at the occasional passer-by. _Maybe Camille is right. Maybe I did give up_. _How do I start over, though?_ _How…_

He reaches the bottom of a concrete stairwell, a signal he’s close to the car. Just as his foot hits the first step, he realizes someone is standing at the top. Looking up, Derek spots a familiar face topping a gun. “Wait, Michael, I--”

The gunshot is both louder and softer than Derek would have expected. It sounds loud to him, but since no one else approaches the two of them or screams, it can’t be all that noisy. That, or there really isn’t anyone else around right now.

The force of the shot sends him sprawling. The pain is enough to keep him down, even though he can feel the blood soaking his uniform, even though he knows he needs help. _Sorry Camille, looks like I was right: this gig killed me…_ The black sky dips lower and lower until it envelopes him completely.


	63. Murder Most Fowl

The photo he just snapped (a gun pointing _right at him_ ) barely registers before pain erupts in Leonard Levitt’s chest. The force of the blow knocks him out of his perch in the tree. His hand reaches the ground a split second before the rest of his body; he hears the _snap_ of bone breaking and a dull throbbing in his wrist joins the sharper one on his torso. But there’s no time to wallow in the pain. He’s just witnessed a kidnapping and they have _guns_ and one of the kidnappers just _shot_ him… Adrenaline surges through him, giving him the strength to get to his feet and run. Vaguely, he can feel the spreading wetness on his shirt, but he can’t stop, he’s got to get help… A third point of pain appears on his back, just as sharp as the one on his chest. Len manages a few more steps before a fourth jolt of pain sends him to back to the ground. He doesn’t get up again.


	64. Close Encounters of the Murderous Kind

Marie Subbarao doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting here. She remembers Dr. Vaughn injecting her with something, and then he started asking her questions. He wants to know about the telescope, and her trip to New Jersey, and what she learned. Her previous resolution not to mention her discoveries to him hasn’t held up, and she vaguely wonders what was in that syringe. She doesn’t really care much anymore, though. All she wants to do now is sleep. She must have voiced this last thought aloud, as Dr. Vaughn agrees, “I think that would be best.” She feels another pinch inside her elbow, right where the first needle went in, and in very short order she falls into unconsciousness.


	65. Last Call

By the time Donny Hayes gets down to the stash of Beau James’s whiskey, it’s already been a long night. If he hadn’t already promised Heisler he’d bring another bottle by later in the day, he could have already been driving home. But hey, on the bright side, dropping off the bottle will bring in another wad of cash… A sudden noise pulls Donny out of his thoughts. The door to the stash stands ajar, and someone else’s lantern throws light on the damp walls. The fact that someone else has found the stash worries and angers Donny in almost equal measure, but he lets the anger drive him to shove the door open the rest of the way, yelling, “Hey!”

Steven Heisler freezes as the beam from Donny’s flashlight catches him in the face. Rage completely overwhelms any trace of worry left in Donny’s head as the thought _He’s trying to pull a fast one!_ races through his head. A growl builds in his chest as he lowers the light and stalks across the floor. “What the hell do—Hey!” The auctioneer moves faster than Donny thought possible, snatching a bottle of whiskey and taking a swing at Donny’s head. Surprised, Donny doesn’t even have time to raise his arms before the bottle connects. Sharp pain stabs through his temple, followed swiftly by overwhelming darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, this story will be updated simultaneously here and at FanFiction.net.


	66. Nikki Heat

“Let go of me!” Stacey Collins yelled, pushing at the man in front of her.

She must have surprised him, because Scott Donner loosened his grip enough that Stacey could twist out of his hold. She managed a few running steps down the nearby alley before he shouted, “Hey!” Heavy footfalls followed.

_Shit._ Stacey only made it a couple more steps before Scott’s hand closed around her arm again and spun her around. “Gimme those pictures!” he yelled in her face.

“Let go of me!” Stacey repeated. She pushed at him again, hoping to once again break away. This time, though, her feet got tangled. And Scott pushed back. Stacey’s panic intensified as she felt herself falling backwards. She clutched at Scott, hoping to break her fall, but no such luck. Instead, pain shot through her as something ripped through her abdomen, washing away the panic in a wave of agony. She tasted blood before darkness pulled her under.


	67. Poof! You're Dead

Zalman Drake let out a sigh as the door of his shop closed behind him. The dim lights didn’t do much to cut the after-midnight darkness outside, but he couldn’t see the point in turning more fixtures on. One last short meeting and this whole crazy experience would be over. Zalman liked magic tricks and didn’t mind the secrecy that went with designing them, but this client …

Zalman shook his head. The money would make all of this worth it. As soon as Christian Dahl handed over the check, Zalman could move on with his life.

A light tap on the door caught his attention. _Speak of the devil_. Zalman barely opened the door before Dahl rushed inside. Zalman’s initial thought about Dahl wanting to get off the street quickly disappeared as the older man planted his hand over Zalman’s nose and mouth and forced him against the counter.

Zalman struggled, but Dahl was stronger. It wasn’t long before the dim lights of the shop faded to black.


	68. Knockdown: John Raglan

I stare at the window of the diner, not seeing outside. My mind races ahead to the coming conversation. Movement inside catches my eye, and look up as two people approach my booth.

“Lady, what part of ‘no cops’ didn’t you understand?” The words leave my mouth before I really think about it. I’ve seen him with her before, in those pictures that run in the paper and online every once in a while.

“He’s not a cop.”

“Who the hell is he, then?”

“Someone I trust.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument, so I study him as they settle in. Now that I think about it, the captions of those photos always identified him as a writer, so she technically listened.

“More coffee?” the waitress interrupts my thoughts. I nod, tell her, “Thank you,” when the cup has enough, and wave her off. This conversation will be tough enough without an audience.

“Tell me what I don’t know about my mom’s murder.” Detective Kate Beckett is all business. I can just detect the undercurrent of stronger emotions in her voice.

I look around the shop, giving myself a moment to meet that intensity. “Everybody drinks their coffee out of cardboard cups these days. Or those plastic travel mugs. But this,” I lift my mug, “there’s something about the way the ceramic warms your hands that,” I trail off as a laugh escapes and a smile tugs at my lips. “It’s weird, the things you notice.” I catch sight of their faces. My moment is over. “I just got the long face from the doc. Lymphoma. 6 months.”

“Sorry to hear about that.” She doesn’t really sound sorry. I didn’t expect her to.

I sit back up and sigh. Time to come clean. “Every year around the holidays, they, they run that Christmas carol on local TV. When I was a kid, I remember that Jacob Marley scared the hell out of me. Forced to drag that, that chain around in the next world.”

“‘I wear the chain I forged in life’,” the writer says.

I lean forward and complete the quote. “‘I made it link by link.’ I hid a lot of sins behind my badge, and now I got to carry ‘em. But your mother’s case, that one weighs a ton.”

“Why?” The emotions are starting to show. “Because you wrote it off as random gang violence when you knew it wasn’t?”

“I did what I was told.” She scoffs, but I push ahead. “And I kept quiet because I was afraid. About a year ago there was a hostage standoff in your precinct. You killed a hit man named Dick Coonan. It was a big deal in the papers. People noticed.”

She doesn’t care. “Who hired Coonan to kill my mom?”

I wave my hand, shift in my seat. I need to make her understand. “You need some context here. This thing started about nineteen years ago, back before I ever knew who Johanna Beckett was. Nineteen years ago I,” my voice fails for a moment, “I made a bad mistake. And that started the dominoes falling.” I pick up my mug; I need another sip to give me more time. “And one of ‘em was your mom.”

The coffee cup explodes on its way to my mouth. I’m on the ground with no memory of how I got there. Intense pain radiates from my shoulder, which also feels wet. The writer appears above me and pushes a towel against me. One part of my mind notices it slowly turn red. _Focus._ I have to tell him, have to tell him so he can tell _her_ …. I grab his arm. My mouth moves, but I don’t think my voice is working…. The pain swallows me whole.


	69. Knockdown: Jolene Granger

_You never really know someone._ This thought has been running through Jolene’s head on a loop for the last couple of hours, ever since her boyfriend, Hal, showed up, pointed a small gun at her head, forced her in to a chair, and zip-tied her hands behind her back. He hasn’t paid much attention to her since then, other than to check where she put her phone. Otherwise, he’s stayed behind her, speaking in a low voice into his own phone. She’s heard enough to know he’s killed someone and plans to kill again. _I have to get out of here._

She ran track in high school and college; even in her heels, Jolene believes she can reach the door before Hal can reach her. _On your marks… get set… go!_

Her arms, hindered by the zip tie, catch the chair. It falls to the floor. Off-balance, she only manages a couple of steps before sprawling on the rug. Desperate, she tries inching forward. She hears a thump as Hal jumps over the chair, just before she feels his weight on her back and his hands on her neck. He twists, a sharp pain races through her, and blackness engulfs her.


	70. Lucky Stiff

Jay Hickston can feel the sweat gather on his brow. He can also feel the presence of the gun pointed at his back, and hear Shawn York’s breathing close behind him. Exhaling shakily, he finishes entering the combination for the safe. Once he opens the door, he’ll have to move fast. _Here we go._

He pulls the door open, shifting slightly to block York’s view as much as possible, and reaches inside. Wrapping his hand around the gun he stashed there just hours ago, he whips around as fast as he can, hoping to take the younger man by surprise. It doesn’t work; York moves quickly, grabbing Jay’s wrist and pressing in close. They grapple, each trying to get the upper hand. Jay feels the barrel of York’s gun press against his chest. His reaches to push the weapon away. He hears a loud noise, pain flashes through him, and then… nothing.


End file.
